


Pumpkin Stew

by Reverie_Bluebell



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 03:34:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14511660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reverie_Bluebell/pseuds/Reverie_Bluebell
Summary: When Zelda cooks dinner one evening, Link recalls a memory of someone from his past.





	Pumpkin Stew

**Author's Note:**

> I've always thought that it would be great for Link to have living parents in a game, and this short fic is an attempt to fill some of that void.

The smoke filtered through the leaves as Link watched the flames dance under the pot. Zelda was cooking this evening. She thought it a great idea to take advantage of the pleasant weather and sit outside for the meal. Indeed, the breeze that day struck that rare and perfect balance between warm and cool, carrying the verdant scents of the forest.

The aroma from the pot was just starting to leave its glimpses in the air as well. Link didn’t know what it was, as Zelda insisted on keeping it a surprise, but he began guessing. Was it…meat? Carrot? No. Perhaps pumpkin?

Whenever Link had cooked with pumpkin during his travels, the smell always made him feel oddly nostalgic, though he struggled to place in his mind why that was. This time, however, he concentrated on the recollection that was forming in his mind. Yes, he was reminded of someone in his family...his mother.

***

The sun had nearly finished its setting as Link approached his family’s house on the outskirts of Castle Town. Through the windows, the glow of the lanterns was almost as inviting as the wafting scents of pumpkin stew and bread baking from the kitchen.  
He opened the door, announcing his arrival with a soft, bird-like whistle before taking off his knapsack and sword and stashing them next to the doorway.

“Hey, chickaloo!” his mother said as she turned around, her brown hair tied in a messy bun. “How was the Spring of Power?”  
Link’s face carried a frown, and his eyes seemed to take particular interest in the floor.  
“I see. Well, don’t dwell on it too much. Zelda’s a smart girl. She’ll figure it out when she’s ready. I’m sure she appreciates you being there all the same.”  
Link answered with a nod.  
She gave him a pat on the head, scratching her hand through his hair for a moment. “Come sit down, I made your favorite,” she said.

She didn’t need to tell him twice. Link took his seat at the table and began fervently scooping pumpkin stew into his mouth. His mother followed suit, though with a more mindful pace.  
“Chow down. Pumpkin makes your bones good and strong, and you’ll need all the strength you can get for the big day.”  
That was what she called the quest to defeat Calamity Ganon. The less sinister name did little to assuage either his or her anxiety, but calling it ‘the big day’ felt less dire when rolling off the tongue.  
Link nodded hastily as he scarfed another spoonful of stew.

She gave a soft smile. “You can do it, honey. I know you will.”  
He returned a somewhat vacant gaze while he continued eating, as if he had heard similar many times over.  
“I won’t linger on the subject too long, but no matter what happens that day, always remember that your mama loves you.”  
At this, Link set down the spoon and lifted himself from his seat. Walking to his mother’s side of the table, he spread his arms out and pulled her into an earnest hug, his forehead resting on her shoulder.  
“And when you come back,” she said, “I’ll have the biggest pot of pumpkin stew you’ve ever seen waiting for ya.” 

***

“Link, is something troubling you?” Zelda’s voice interrupted Link’s thoughts.  
He blinked, glancing at her and then to the bowl of stew placed before him.  
“No,” he responded. “I was…” his eyes searched for a focus as his thoughts were piecing together. “I was remembering my mom.”  
Zelda spoke no words, but with soft eyes and a gentle nod she invited him to continue speaking.

He looked back at the stew, and a hint of a smile pulled from the corners of his lips. “She used to make this for me.”  
Zelda mirrored his expression. “Yes. I recall it was a favorite of yours.”  
As a weighted silence filled the room, Link hung his head so that his face was hidden from sight. A breath trembled from his lips, and Zelda thought she may have seen a single tear fall.  
“Link!” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have-“  
“No, no. You’re fine.” He lifted his head to address her. “Don’t worry.”  
Zelda smoothed her hand across the back of his shoulders. “I’m here for you,” she said in what was almost a whisper.

Link closed his eyes for a moment and took in a deep breath before speaking again. “I’m happy I remember her,” he began, “But…I wish I could go see her, too.”  
“I know that feeling all too well,” Zelda said. “And then you think of all the things you want to say to them. The things you didn’t think to say before.”  
Link nodded. Indeed, what would he say to his mother? The big day as she called it had been a disaster. The other Champions had all perished. Did his mother even survive that day? If she did survive, did she know what happened to Link or did she believe her son to be dead? Surely someone would have let her know. He decided not to ruminate on those questions for now.

“I hate that my memory is in fragments,” he said. “When they come back they can just hit me like a sledgehammer.”  
Zelda rested her hand on his shoulder. “It’s all so much to process,” she affirmed. Link nodded.  
Zelda gave a brief squeeze on the shoulder before returning to the pot. She stirred the ladle and scooped out her own serving of stew before sitting across from Link. She raised the spoon from her bowl and blew off the steam before she spoke again.

“I was thinking. You know how the spirits of the Four Champions accompanied you on your journey?”  
Link’s raised his eyebrows, indicating his attention.  
She continued, “I believe that your mother was with you in the same way.”  
“Really?”  
“Yes. Any time you cooked a meal to refresh yourself, that was her guiding you.”

He tentatively scooped a spoonful of the stew, watching the steam twirl before giving it a taste. He found that it was just as delicious as what was made by his mother’s hands.  
With the next bite, he closed his eyes and felt a warmth surround him, almost like an embrace. He exhaled deeply, his mind blanketed by the flavor of pumpkin, and a smile stretched across his face.


End file.
